Thoughts on Home

Like most neighborhoods these days my neighborhood is in a state of flux. Foreclosures pepper the neighborhood like pockmarks. It's strange to walk by a house its lawn once littered with hula hoops and bicycles, now vacant- coated in newspapers baking under the summer sun. My neighborhood like many others- a slowly transforming ghost town between the interlude of abandonment and new buyers scooping up the desperate deals banks are now willing to make.

I've written before of my acute homesickness for Pakistan, a place I've never lived in but whose DNA courses through me thousands of miles away. Salwar kamiz line my guest closet. I speak the language. My manuscripts evoke its dusty streets and groves of kinu. And yet the last time I visited, I was nine. It's strange, this longing for a place I've never lived in, called a bedroom my own, or used as a return address on an envelope. And yet, when I think of Pakistan, I think of home. My grandfather's home where I know I could sit at the doorstep and be recognized by passerbys because I have my mother's eyes, my father's stance. Where they might smile and greet me instead of the blank stares I am accustomed to by neighbors I have lived alongside for nearly eight years; learned indifference. Where home is not a thing you buy and sell to find stainless steel appliances and bigger better cabinets but the land my great-great-grandfather saved to purchase, which my great-grandfather tilled- which my grandfather expanded upon- which enabled my father to pursue an education in a career that led him to the United States changing the trajectory of all future generations, providing me with a life I could never have known otherwise. Every immigrant takes a leap of faith and incredible bravery to leave all they know behind and create a life from something wholly unfamiliar and new. I know this is not unique to those who transfer countries as my friends who have left the American cities of their childhood can attest to, the small towns where generations of family still live, have lived, for as long as anyone can remember, trading gossip over front-stoop rocking chairs, and where they can still return today, familiar faces in the eyes of those they pass by on the street. Loss and gain, hand in hand.

As I watch television shows predicated on the wonder of American mobility, the ability to house flip-hop-abandon-escape I see the freedom gained in being rootless. And yet with everything we gain, there is something we lose. As I look out my window and see the ever-changing landscape, the increasing anonymity and emotional distance from our neighbors despite homes stuck closer together than ever before, I wonder what its like to live in a place where home is not just your marble fireplace and tiled bathroom, but instead extends far beyond the walls of your home, where it encompasses not just where you live but who you are. I could just be dreaming, perhaps places like this simply don't exist anymore, anywhere, perhaps these are just imaginings more closely aligned to mythology and fairy tales than reality, and perhaps we are all better off in this transient new world- but still, today as I paused to glance at an empty home once inhabited by hope and love- its neglect now clear by the weeds growing through the cracks in the driveway- I just wonder what home once was- and what that must have been like.

Aisha, the book buyer- and Kindle.

Me: I decided I want to get a kindle
K: You don't want to do that.
Me: Yes, I do. I think it's time. I'm going to order it now.
K: No. Seriously. Don't.
Me: What? No? I want one. Why would you say no? That is so-
K: Sigh. I got you one. As a gift. It's getting here tomorrow.

D'oh.

I still can't believe it.  Me. Aisha. Got a Kindle.

That's great, you might be thinking. You're a regular revolutionary pioneer to get one of those newfangled devices! I hear they might someday be the new thing.

Yes- they've been around for a while. They've been around so long now they're beating print sales, collapsing publishing houses and book stores, and for the longest time I wanted no part of it. I wanted my hands free of the carnage. And then I got one.

Years back my brother Ali considered getting me one but when he broached the topic I stared at him in horror like he suggested koala bears were the uncutest breed of bear ever and the subject was quickly dropped. When Kashif casually brought it up [unbeknown to me to test out the gift giving possibility a few months ago] I again raised a suspicious eyebrow and said absolutely not- except this time my refusal was tempered with, well, maybe? Friends had them, swore by them. And I admit I got curious. Plus, to understand the beast, you must operate the beast, no?

I've had the Kindle for a few days now and I have to admit: I love it. I love the ease of portability and the ink-like readability. I love being able to highlight and write notes in it [which I do not do much on actual books- I hate messing up good books with scrawl]. I also realized upon getting the kindle, that my kindle purchases are not ruining the publishing industry. In a given year I buy five books. This weekend, I purchased ten. So many that my credit card company froze my account and their fraud prevention unit called me about suspicious abnormal activity. I bought so many books my credit card company worried. My purchases did not replace print sales, they simply were extra sales to the sale pot of book companies that would never have otherwise happened. My desire for instant gratification and lack of impulse control when it comes to all things books is what Kindle is designed to coax out.

There is no way I will purchase e-books exclusively going forward. I love lending books to friends and family. I love browsing book stores and borrowing books from family and friends [and the library, my bestest friend ever] and there is something special about turning actual pages and building ones personal library collection.

But I no longer feel guilty for embracing the new wave of the future of reading- it is not an either or- its both- and its pretty awesome.

Do you have an e-reader? Considering getting one? Curious for your thoughts on this topic!

Random thoughts of the mallish sort

I go to the mall religiously. Once a year. Maybe. My frequency might increase now that I've discovered one with a soft-play area perfect for Waleed to go nuts in. While I love playgrounds he is a little young for any sort of independent play there as they involve climbing stairs with large gaps and other challenges requiring hand-held monitoring which is just fine but the soft-play area in the mall is completely hands-free, he can climb on foam-like trucks and scamper through plastic tunnels and he can fall, fall, fall, literally flat on his face and hop up grinning because the floor- it too is soft. And while the attorney in me is wondering at how the mall justifies the potential liability of hundreds of falling kids each week, I am quite appreciative they have it, a place for him to play age-appropriately and for me to sit back and watch him attack things that are not my leather couch.

Except that thirty minutes into playing, he suddenly stopped playing, stared up at the Dillard's in the distance, his jaw dropped in full astonishment like he had at last spotted the promised land and without even a moment's warning broke into a full-blown waddling sprint towards it paying no mind to other shoppers or the rickety train carrying children driven by a teenage conductor heading straight for him [Granted it was a good three stores away but the sight of their oncoming collision course as theoretical as it may have been, still gives me chills]. It took me a full thirty seconds to tackle him, and while the sandals were admittedly at remarkably good deals, it still didn't merit a Filenes running of the bride reenactment.

Ofcourse it made me re-question my stance on the leash. The one dressed up like monkeys or bunnies [and once I saw a child on an actual leash made for dogs not gussied up with any fuzzy creature]. Pre-parenthood I admit it, when I saw parents trotting their children with these leashes I judged them. But now, while I'm still not at a place where I think he needs a leash since he sits just fine in a stroller or the Ergo I do get it- funny the parenthood thing, one has the most opinions on the matter right before they actually are parents.

It appears he was hungry [and since most of our trips are to grocery stores, perhaps his hungry belly simply saw a store and thought therein must lie food]. I sat across from the Go.diva Shop in the mall to feed him and as I saw the trickle of people [by which I mean one person in thirty minutes who stopped in and purchased a truffle.] I wondered- how do they stay in business in the malls? As I stared at the lacksadaisacal store employees I couldn't help think of Breaking Bad and Los Pollos Hermanos and while I know the elite chocolatier chain sells just chocolates I couldn't help think what a nifty money laundering operation it could be should they be one. Which they're not. Ofcourse. But. It speaks to how amazing that show is and how thoroughly it messes with your head. [If you don't watch Breaking Bad and this paragraph made entirely no sense, you really should catch up- its awesome]

Leashing, laundering, and Dillard's. I told you it was random. Thoughts? Any randomness floating your boat today?

The curious case of the waking in the nighttime: SOLVED

At least for now. [Knock on wood. Throw salt over shoulder. [insert superstition of choice like evil-eye amulet of Istanbul my son was by strange coincidence playing with at the writing of this post, designed to ward off bad vibes that could undo the good that has been done in this slumbering household- and while I'm not the superstitious sort, in matters of sleep I'd believe in vegan vampires if they cured sleep deprivation- which I don't believe they do- insomniacs they are, or so I hear]

But I digress. How did I get from multiple wakings per night for nearly a month to a baby in bed around 7:30 bleating nary a peep until 6:30am for three nights and counting? You guys. Katery in particular, who suggested nighttime diapers. Though delivered diapers are advantageous in their cheaper prices and convenient arrival one misses out on seeing other options lining the shelves and I never realized that overnight diapers actually existed [since diapers are generally worn at all times including overnight]. As soon as she mentioned it I grabbed my keys popped him in his car seat and headed to Publix, prices be damned- if extra padded diapers meant extra sleep then that is what I was going to do now and not a minute later!

And it worked. Three nights and counting, he sleeps through the night with nary a leak or a peep. Wet diapers. That was the issue. Poor kid. If you told me pre-kid I'd celebrate waking with the roosters I'd likely have stared at you like you had peach seeds glued to your head for purely aesthetic reasons [though I have a hard time figuring out any legitimate reason for glued peach seeds even aesthetic ones- though who am I to judge]. But now? Give me 6+ consecutive hours of sleep and I'm about as thrilled as it gets. I could in actuality get much more sleep, twelve hours of straight sleep if I desired, I just have a hard time sleeping on time because the night time hours are my time to read, watch TV, or work on my writing. As much as I know I should sleep earlier to take advantage of the possibility of a true full night's rest- I am reluctant to part with my 'me' time. Still, he is sleeping, and I have the option for hitting the hay at 10pm and getting eight hours if I desired- and that's pretty indescribably sweet.

I love blogging for many reasons but chief among them is the amazing support network that helps me see things in entirely new ways. Sadia's sage advice, to accept the sleep deprivation- embrace it- because its the reality of parenting youngsters really gave me an aha moment because while he slept these past three nights, teething, nightmares, growth spurts are all on the horizon ready to snatch away said sleep at a moment's notice- perhaps if we don't view ourselves as failures for sleep or the lack thereof, we can just fall into and enjoy this time better.  Plus as Julia Monroe Martin pointed out, sleep never returns the way it once did even when they're grown its just in different car-driving hanging out at a party sort of way. The perspective helps. I knew I was handing over a large chunk of my life to my child when I had him, and it appears I'll also be handing over a large chunk of my sleep- but I'm beginning to stop fighting it and appreciate the moments that I do sleep and accept the moments that I don't.

But. In case you are not yet reaching zen-like acceptance about your own kid's all-night partying, check out this completely awesome audio-book narrated by Samuel L. Jackson called 'Go the F* to Sleep" [I am in awe of Mr. Jackson's ability to transform profanity into pure poetry in Pulp Fiction- and love his twist on the universal sleep situation here]:

The story of a cow. milk. and sleep.**

Once upon a time there was a new mother who gained a beautiful darling little boy and lost the ability to sleep. When will I sleep again? She asked her friends, those with a few children each, and whom she therefore regarded as the experts on all things baby. Soon they promised. Wait until he's on rice cereal, and when this didn't work, try more weighty solids, bananas, fish, or chicken will keep his belly full until morning but when this too failed, they all promised one thing: When he's done weaning he'll sleep through the night, most definitely. Most certainly. Are you sure? the new mother whispered through a yawn. Oh yes, they said, at least, that's how it was for our kids. And the new mother smiled as her eyes shut and her nose dipped into the tea cup because while we all believe our children to be absolutely one-of-a-kind unique we listen to the stories of those who have been in the trenches with the hopes that in this one particular area your child will color inside the lines and follow in the paths of children before him and sleep, sleep, sleep.

The weaning process has begun and we're down to one morning session plus the wakings that occur through the night. While he is content now with the bottle and I could wean him completely if I wanted, the honest answer is I don't want to stumble down the stairs and clear the gate at the bottom to make his bottle- nursing is just easier and helps lull him to sleep for a little while longer in the mornings when my perky bunny is up at 6:30 ready to attend to his business meetings and return the important phone calls from Tokyo requiring prompt attention [why else would anyone in their right mind wake so early?] It's not the most comfortable sleep but gives me a chance to gather my bearings and wipe off the cobwebs on my sleepy brain [as many as can be dusted- some are permanently stuck I'm afraid, it appears drugs are not the only thing that kill brain cells- sleep deprivation may have lasting effects too.] Waleed's doctor told me not to introduce a bottle once he was past one year of age, but its the only way he'll drink his milk and oblige me to sleep for his naps and at night and I'd rather he get milk than no milk at all. As much as I expected to feel my heart break in pieces to wean him, its been gradual and that has helped all parties involved both physically and emotionally. Plus there are definitely benefits to having back one's body such as the ability to guilt-free drink a cup of coffee again and letting K take over bedtime, something he's longed to do but. . .

I was also hoping for sleep. And so far cow milk is not offering the promised panacea. He naps like an angel but his night sleep is not long and uninterrupted. He still wakes twice a night and he wants to imbibe something before he returns to sleep. I tentatively tried cry-it-out a few nights but it appears he's developed endurance and can go for much longer than I have the willpower to bear. So I change his diaper and I nurse him to sleep. Even two minutes of nursing will suffice, but nursing I must do if I hope for sleep to return. Twice a night. Every night. I don't know if he's hungry or rising from habit or if its teething or if he's waking from dreams [which apparently begin bothering them around now] or a plethora of other reasons, but despite the full-fat organic cow milk, he's still waking. I weaned him. I've arrived at the promised land. Where's my promise?

Still, he's worth it. The soft curls, the smile the size of Nebraska. I'll do it for him. I'll have plenty of time when he's grown and not quite so desperately in need of me, to get all the sleep I need. I will miss these sleep-deprived days. Right?

Any advice on the matter of sleep [and the lack thereof] much appreciated! 

**and ofcourse last night? he slept all night! It's like he reads these posts! But- his diaper was soaked through- I suspect this might be more the reason of his wakings than any other. . . if anyone has any advice [bigger diapers?] I'd love to know. . . hate depriving him of his feed before night since I think he needs it.

How to be a supportive husband to a dieting wife:

Me: Hey, since you're out how about Chinese take-out? I could do Mongolian Beef.
K: But you're on a healthy eating streak and you've been doing so good, are you sure?
Me: I know, but I just woke up this morning craving it. The way they saute the onions and mushrooms, and the flavors, spicy and sweet at the same time. Just this once maybe?
K: Yeah, but there's always a 'just this once', don't do it, fight the urge.
Me: Sigh. You're right. I don't want to mess up all my hard work.
K: I'm driving past a Chick-Fil-A should I pick up your favorite salad?
Me: That sounds awesome. Thanks so much. You talked me off a chopstick cliff.
K: Not a problem, I know you can do it.

How not to be a supportive husband to a dieting wife:

Me: What are you going to get? The sandwich? Nuggets?
K: I was thinking about getting the Mongolian Beef from the Chinese place down the street.
Me: What?
K: Your description has me craving it now too.
Me: Um, are you really seriously going to get the Mongolian beef and eat it for dinner while I sit across from you eating a salad with no dressing?
K: Wait, do you think I shouldn't? I won't if you don't want me to.

Marital Public Service Announcement #1: If she responds no its fine, get the Mongolian beef, I don't mind. It's not fine. She minds.

He changes diapers, loads the dishwasher and buys me flowers just because but it appears that mind reading still eludes him completely.

Happy Fourteen Month Birthday

Dear Waleed,

Today you are fourteen months old. We missed recording month thirteen because we were in Orlando. Your nana was in the hospital and in the rush to get down in time for his surgery we didn't think about taking the camera. I worried about taking care of you during such a stressful time but I needn't have worried since you thought the ICU waiting room was a veritable jungle gym. And with watching you run up and down the corridor, or tenderly holding your Pooh Bear and whispering sweet nothings to it, it was you who took care of us, taking our focus off our anxiety because when you're staring at us with a four tooth grin [oh yes, the teeth are finally here!] its kind of impossible to do anything but smile back. You bonded with everyone those nearly three weeks and when we left you missed them terribly. It made me sad to see you longing for the companionship of a home filled with people who doted on you but I alternately felt grateful that there is such a home for you to go to where you are greeted with love everywhere you turn, a place to miss as intensely as you did.

So much happened these past two months. You go up the stairs. And belly flop down. You love the stairs, its as though you and the stairs are opposing magnetic poles because you can't stop yourself from hiking up and down without pause until we pop the gate on.  [Is mountain climbing in your future? As your mother I both support it and implore you to please never think of such dangerous hobbies.] You loved taking things out of boxes, cabinets, drawers, and now? You love putting them back in. You open doors if the handle is long enough, shut any door you get your hands on, and turn lights on and off if in the arms of someone standing too close to a switch. You no longer nap in your swing, taking all naps in the crib, and the swaddler too is officially history [no, that's not a tear- just had a thing in my eye]. You also went on your first merry-go-round clinging to the bar as the horse went up and down- and in that moment as I saw your grin I wasn't sure if this was life or if I was dreaming because moments this beautiful just couldn't be real.

You also love Elmo. Especially Elmo's Four Ducks. I used to despise Elmo. I felt he was all that had gone wrong with Sesame Street, but now? He melts my heart. We no longer have TV but we watch this song each morning on-line and your face breaks into a grin and you look at me like are you for real? This amazing song again? My life rocks! Each and every time.

You talk more now, trying out different vowels and consonants, you wave your arms and implore though we're not entirely sure what you're saying most of the time. Still, slowly, we're figuring it out. You say momma, bye-bye, duck, and you point at everything and say that. You bellow the K sound desi-ishtyle but we don't know for certain what it means, your father's name? Kya? Khana? The jury's out on that. My favorite is when you say daddy. You say it like you grew up in an English-Medium prep school in Pakistan or are trying out for a role in a 1960's Bollywood film. In our attempt to impart language it appears we might just be imparting the accent?

But let's not forget your hair. Your hair, the very focused subject of conversation amongst strangers and family with passerbys stopping to admire the wild spirals that spring forth defining your personality and family [some at least] shaking their heads and proffering scissors to snip them back just a little. I knew with both of your parents sporting heads of curls that you would be no different but I had not anticipated for a minute how much I would love those curls, how they are so silky soft and frame your face your boyish face with a softness that makes my heart skip a beat. And yes, I admit I have fun with it too, and I sincerely think you won't mind yourself in my hair band [the three seconds you allowed it on your hair] since I can tell you have your father's sense of humor and easy going nature. 

Your Khala Aamina came to visit during these past two months, with her new husband. She came a year ago when you were three weeks old and the two of you spent most of her stay one year ago stuck together like velcro, you slept on her, snuggled on her, and pretty much didn't leave her arms unless I needed to feed you [because yeah she changed your diapers too!]. You've changed a lot since then, no longer a quiet little lump of baby but an active boy who can't sit quite still ever. So it was the strangest thing that this time, when you saw her, and she picked you up, a strange expression passed over your face and then you simply fell into her arms. And you stayed there just like you did that time last year. When you weren't clinging to her like a koala bear on a bamboo shoot, you were racing around the room laughing and clapping and beaming at her, so much so you that you slammed headfirst into a wooden toy [we purchased for its safe corners] and gave yourself a cut right down your forehead [It healed fast, and a bite of ice cream erased the tears like magic]. The relationship you two has doesn't cease to amaze me. I honestly think children recognize the people who truly love them and they respond to that love, you saw your Khala's pure love for you and you melted into that love.

I wish I could surround you with that kind of love at all times but life is full of all types of people and as much as I want to protect you from the bitter and petty ones I won't always be able to. Just know that the people you need to focus on are the ones who see the light in your eyes and see the beautiful person you are. As A Woman My Age so beautifully put it, because you are: You are worthy. You are the treasure.

Love,

Your Mama

Redefining Bliss

Bliss used to be hikes along lava cliffs

or exploring a hidden alley in a small Spanish town

or watching the perfect sunrise from atop an ancient volcano

Tonight is my nine year wedding anniversary and as I lay my son to bed thunder crackling outside my window, chai brewing, sheesha smoke spiraling while Ray Lamontagne croons his haunting lyrics in the background the murkiness of the past few weeks recedes and clarity springs forth: life is full of stumbling blocks and uncertainty but nine years and counting, K's been here to catch me should I fall. And I have. And he has. While the source of my worries still linger like steam on a summer night, I realize the futility of this emotion- worry is just a noose of my own making- it's suffocating grip, a choice. Life can sometimes be a bumpy journey but worry? It solves nothing, but confuses and complicates everything. Tonight I let go of my worries, I look at what I have and realize that prayers are sometimes already answered- we just have to be still enough- and trust enough to see. Tonight I'm not hiking a volcano, or swimming in a lagoon, I'm in PJ's eating FroYo about to watch a Breaking Bad marathon. Nothing in its substance has changed, but my attitude has shifted, and tonight? I'm happy.  Bliss redefined, down to its purest form. Cheesiness I embrace thee: Happy Anniversary K, thank you for being you and for loving me, supporting me, and believing in me every step of the way.

Aint it about time you realize, its not worth keepin score, you win some, you lose some and you let it go. What's the use of stacking on every failure another stone, Til you find you've spent your whole damn life building walls, lonely and old before your time. It took so long to see, the truth was all around me. . . It's not living that you're doing if it feels like dying. - Ray Lamontagne